


Lay Me Down Tonight In My Linen And Curls

by stratumgermanitivum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: "You were supposed to LEAVE" AU where they DID, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Fake Family Relationships, May/December Relationship, Multi, No underage, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: The last time he’d seen her was four months ago, for Christmas, but when Abigail hops off the plane and into Will’s arms, she has morphed somehow. Her college diploma has transferred her from the edge off adolescence, neatly into adulthood.Not that she has ever truly enjoyed adolescence, not while Will has known her. She was old before her time, and he and Hannibal made her older.They should feel guilty about that, but it’s been years since Will was able to feel guilty about anything.
Relationships: Will Graham/Abigail Hobbs/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 129





	Lay Me Down Tonight In My Linen And Curls

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags! This is an established relationship, so they've been together for years, but everyone was above-age when they got together. There's some very vague implication that Will feels like they took advantage of Abigail, but nothing explicit and Abigail certainly doesn't feel that way so it shouldn't be triggering.

At twenty-two, she seems taller than she’d been when he first met her.

She can’t possibly be, of course, because girls stop growing by then, but she _seems_ it. She’s older somehow, every time he sees her.

The last time he’d seen her was four months ago, for Christmas, but when Abigail hops off the plane and into Will’s arms, she has morphed somehow. Her college diploma has transferred her from the edge off adolescence, neatly into adulthood.

Not that she has ever truly enjoyed adolescence, not while Will has known her. She was old before her time, and he and Hannibal made her older.

They should feel guilty about that, but it’s been years since Will was able to feel guilty about anything.

“Hi, Daddy,” she says, planting a loud and showy kiss on his cheek. She’s always loved to push the boundaries of public displays.

“Hello, baby. Got your bag?”

In the car, she kisses him deep and dirty in the front seat, before he can even get his belt on. She pulls back with a devilish smile, the sort that always means trouble for himself and Hannibal.

Well, trouble for _Will_ , anyway. Hannibal is somehow immune to trouble. He looks upon Abigail’s mischief with an obvious sense of pride.

She chatters the whole way home, about roommates and keeping in touch, about _this_ boy and _that_ boy, always looking at him slyly from the corner of her eyes, to watch jealousy flicker at his face.

She didn’t sleep with anyone else, they both know it. But they both know she _could_ have, and that he’d be in no position to hold her back from chasing someone younger. Someone more suitable.

She likes how roughly he loves her when he remembers there’s something to fear. He likes how confident she is when she realizes the world is at her feet.

“Just wait until your father sees you,” he says with a wry smirk.

Hannibal is in the kitchen, because of course he is. He’s wearing an apron, and Will knows how much he missed her when he sees which one it is. Only for Abigail, would Hannibal lower himself to a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron.

“Hey, pops!”

She relishes the pull of a frown when she kisses Hannibal’s cheek. Will does too, though he knows better than to point it out. Hannibal is intolerable when he thinks they’re ganging up on him-- perhaps because he knows they always win.

Will twists around Hannibal to poke at what will eventually be dinner, getting his hands smacked with Hannibal’s sauté spoon when he tries to snatch a pepper from the cutting board.

“How was your trip?” Hannibal asks.

Abigail prattles on for him the same way she did for Will, though Will notices she tries to antagonize him less. Hannibal is the most intimidating member of the family, but it’s more than that. For Abigail, Hannibal is a certainty. They both came into this family with bloody hands and mouthfuls of flesh. It was Will who had to be convinced and Will who’s love must be regularly tested to ensure it’s still strong.

Still, Will is not above mischief of his own. “Tell Hannibal about the boy with the tattoo.”

Abigail shoots him a dirty look, and Hannibal raises an eyebrow.

“Surely,” Hannibal says, “I’ve raised you to have better taste than _that_.”

“Big one,” Will continues, grinning as Abigail’s face turns scarlet and then purple. She’ll be seeking revenge later, no doubt about it. “Big black dragon with a thick tail leading right down his belly to his-“

“Will!” Abigail shouts, pretending to be scandalized. As if it hadn’t been _her_ story.

Hannibal shakes his head with a sigh. He looks as though he’s about to claim they’re giving him a migraine again. “All that _ink_ spoiling the meat.”

“Don’t worry,” Abigail says, “I won’t bring him home for dinner.”

“You never bring _anyone_ for dinner,” Hannibal mourns. “A beautiful young lady such as yourself should have dozens of suitors.”

“Yeah, but they’ve got like… _parents_ and _jobs_ and people who they’d brag about me to. Kind of hard to make them disappear over a long weekend.”

Hannibal kisses the top of her head. “Well, we’ll just have to broaden your horizons.”

Will, who lured home tonight’s dinner, scowls at them both. “What am I, chopped liver?”

Hannibal looks him up and down. “With your previous drinking habit and painkiller abuse? _Hardly_.”

“We’d eat your heart,” Abigail assures him. “Because we love you.”

_____

Abigail has her own room, because they’d insisted upon it when they moved to Italy. Will, because he’d been waiting for her to outgrow him, and Hannibal, because his love language was gifts and he wouldn’t have been able to fit the absurd, refurbished antique vanity in the Master bedroom _as well_ _as_ all his huge, intimidating oak furniture.

Despite that, she rarely sleeps in it. Will is not at all surprised when he hears the soft steps down the hall.

“ _Daddy…_ ” Abigail’s voice has a sing-song lilt to it. Will is suddenly afraid to put down his book. He’s propped up against the headboard, waiting for Hannibal to finish in the shower and come to bed. He’d known, of course, it’d been _months_ , but is she trying to _kill_ him? Already?

“ _Daddy._ ” It’s a little more petulant this time. A bit of a pout. Will slides his book shut, places the book and his reading glasses on the end table, and looks up.

It’s worse even than he’d imagined. The nightie she’s wearing may as well be pastel-blue _saran wrap_ , for all it covers. He can see the darkened peaks of her nipples through the delicate beading at the top, and as for panties…

Will let’s his gaze skim down for a minute and then closes his eyes. She isn’t wearing any. And she’s _waxed_. She never waxes, this is specifically her welcome-home gift for herself, and Will is going to die of a heart attack in this bed, a middle-aged man murdered by his own embarrassing erection.

“We agreed,” he says slowly, “That there would be no further attempts on each other’s lives. Family rule.”

When he allows himself a peak, she’s grinning. She’s lost some of her sultry air in favor of genuine amusement, and he can see her holding back a giggle.

“You made us put it on the fridge,” he continues. “You _laminated_ it.”

Abigail rolls her eyes and bounces slightly onto her toes. It makes the nighty bounce, as well, and Will definitely can’t think about that for too long.

“You two slept with knives under your pillows,” she says, “We needed it.”

Hannibal still, occasionally, sleeps with a knife under his pillow, as they both well know, but that’s more for pleasure nowadays.

“What did you want, Abigail?” Will asks, dooming himself.

Abigail changes, shifts. Her eyes widen just a bit, blue and brilliant, framed by long, dark lashes. Her lip curls down into a pout, and Will swears he’ll never let Hannibal teach her anything about social manipulation, _ever_ again.

“I can’t sleep,” she says. “The bed’s too big and cold, and the room’s too dark. Can I sleep in here with you? _Please_ , Daddy?”

Will swallows, his mouth dry. “Ask your father,” he whispers.

Her grin turns feral. Hannibal won’t say no to her. He never does.

Hannibal steps from the bathroom as if on cue. Will tries to remember when he stopped hearing the shower and can only conclude that Hannibal has been pressed to the door waiting for the most dramatic time to enter. Bastard.

“Are you lonely, little one?” He asks, and at least Will isn’t the only one affected, anymore. Abigail shivers, a ripple of motion down her spine as she tilts her head up. Hannibal cups her jaw and their noses rub together.

“Yes, Papa.”

Hannibal’s hands cup her waist, the sheer fabric bunching up beneath his fingers. Up close, he _must_ be aware of her, of the stark beauty she presents, but as always, Hannibal is unflappable.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

He always has to play up the parent thing. It drives Will crazy, when he’s already hungry for them, but Abigail just beams.

“Good girl. On you go.”

He pats her gently on the backside as she passes, crawling right into the middle of their oversized bed. Will’s eyes are drawn to her breasts, hanging heavy and full as she moves on all fours to curl up beside him.

“Hi, Daddy,” She whispers, as Hannibal turns out the lights. Will hears him climb into bed behind her, and finally, Will allows himself to break.

He cups her face, the smooth, delicate curve of her jaw. “Hi baby,” he whispers, and kisses her, slow and sweet.

She tastes like sweetness, not mint. Bubblegum. Children’s mouthwash, gargled for the taste, to cement her illusion.

“You know,” he says when he pulls back, “we’d still have you if you didn’t play dress up for us.”

“I like it,” she whispers, dragging him into another kiss.

Will sleeps only in boxers and a t-shirt. She drags the t-shirt off him in seconds, while he’s still daring to skim a hand down her side, not yet grasping at the places she wants his touch.

She’s eager tonight. Her small hand slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, finding him already hard and dripping. He trails kisses down her throat, bowing his head to suck a nipple through the scant, beaded fabric that fails to conceal her.

“Ah…” She tilts her head back, pressing her chest forward, eager for the suction he offers . He licks and nips until the fabric is soaked, sliding against her nipple with a heavy friction that makes her gasp, and then he starts on the other one.

Abigail is always a vocal lover. Her hand falters on his cock and then tightens, her pace quickening as she throws a leg over his hip. He drags her skirt up further, until the useless fabric bunches around her waist.

What Will wants, more than anything, is to get his mouth on her. He can’t help it, not with the sweet little sounds she’s making just from his tongue and teeth against her nipples.

“Hannibal,” Will rasps when he pulls back. Hannibal doesn’t need instructions. He pulls Abigail across the bed, her back to his chest. He takes each breast in hand, his fingers seeking the edge of the beading. With one great tug, he rends the nightie almost entirely in two, leaving her breasts bare, her damp nipples peaked in the chill of the room.

Hannibal busies himself there, pulling little whimpers from her as he rolls the buds between his calloused fingers. He can make her come from that alone, if he takes his time, but Will doesn’t intend to see Abigail tormented tonight.

Hannibal adjusts so that he’s laying back, pulling Abigail over him. Will crawls between her thighs, trailing kisses up the smooth skin. He uses his thumb to part her folds, to reveal where she is wet and needy. She tries, every time, to close her thighs around him, to shield herself from the intensity of his desire, but Will is single-minded in his worship.

He licks a stripe up her center, listening to the sharp intake of breath. He seals his lips around her clit and sucks, traces patterns over it until she’s whining, and the pressure of her thighs is nearly uncomfortable. Will rubs two fingers over her entrance and eases them in, listening to her squeak and gasp as Hannibal toys with her breasts and Will crooks his fingers to find her sweet spot.

Abigail’s cries grow loud. She squirms between the two of them, her stomach tense beneath Will’s hand as he licks at her, as he rubs his fingers at her inner walls, over and over, until she grows tight around him and her whines reach a gasping peak.

Will pulls back, holding his fingers out for Hannibal to lick clean. Abigail gasps for breath between them, cheeks flushed with her pleasure.

“Your turn, Daddy,” she demands, shoving at Will’s chest.

The first climax is merely a hurdle for Abigail to jump. It’s what comes after that she truly loves, the rush of pleasure and hormones that rocket through them all, that they share in a constant loop. Will kicks out of his boxers and lays back against the headboard, pulling her close when she straddles his hips.

“It’s been a while,” he says, rubbing the head of his cock over her wet folds. “Are you ready?”

She braces her hands on the headboard, her hair falling like a curtain, secluding them in their own world. She nods, eyes locked on his, and oh, he loves her, he _loves_ her.

Abigail sinks down in a slow, smooth motion, inch by inch, until she’s flush in his lap, her eyes closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

It always takes a moment for her to adjust. Will uses that time to just admire her, sat astride him, the tattered ruins of her nightie hanging limply from her arms. Hannibal will buy her a dozen more, twice as obscene, Will’s sure of it.

“Okay,” Abigail finally breaths. “Okay, Papa?”

Hannibal joins them, meeting Will’s gaze over her back, a bottle of lubricant in his hands. Though it is Abigail who is caught between them, sometimes Will feels like the one who is overwhelmed. Like they have purposefully joined forces to carefully tear him apart.

“Hold tight,” Will whispers, rubbing a gentle hand over her back, as Hannibal’s slick fingers find their way.

She gasps when they enter her, creating a wet channel for Hannibal to fit into. Will can feel them through her walls, and it is as discomfiting as it is arousing.

Abigail bites her lips, hums softly. “Distract me?” She whispers, cracking one eye open to look at Will.

Will kisses her ear, her jaw. He sucks a bruise against the beat of her pulse. She relaxes in slow, steady increments, and when Hannibal finally pumps out a bit of lubricant for his cock, she is practically limp in Will’s arms.

“Stop me if it hurts,” Hannibal tells her, but he and Will both know she never will. Their girl is tough, a fighter. She refuses to give in, especially when she’s getting everything she wants.

Hannibal takes his time easing into her. Will nearly crumbles under the pressure, the way she squeezes tight around them both as they fill her.

“Daddy,” she gasps, “Daddy, Papa, I’m so _full_.”

Hannibal presses up against her back, one hand low on her stomach, pushing as if to feel them both inside her.

Slow, at first, Hannibal rocks her, a gradual up-and down, grinding against Will where he rests inside her. A little harder, when she begins to moan, and then finally he bends her over Will, and Will clutches her to his chest, and they _move_.

There is nothing that compares to this, that compares to the three of them coming together as one. Abigail sobs and writhes in Will’s arms, as he and Hannibal take it in turn to fuck her, one easing out as the other thrusts back in.

Or both at once, sometimes, knocking the wind from her, leaving her gasping, her nails digging into Will’s biceps.

“Come on, baby girl,” he whispers, reaching between them to tease at her clit.

“I can’t,” Abigail gasps, jerking above him as Hannibal fucks deep. “I can’t, it’s too much.”

“You can,” Hannibal tells her, pulling all her hair back in his hand, a gentle tug that makes her arch so beautifully. “You always do.”

“Be a good girl for us,” Will groans, free hand gripping her hips tight as he grinds into her. “God, _fuck…_ Come on, baby girl, be good and come for Daddy.”

Between them, she does, near screaming with it as they pinch and rub at all her sensitive places. She milks their own releases from them, pulsing around them until she cannot hold herself up at all.

Sometimes, they bring her to that breaking point, only to fuck her harder. Sometimes Hannibal seals a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries and they torture her for hours, until they cannot possibly wring another orgasm from her, until there are tears in her eyes and she’s weakly signaling her tap-out.

Sometimes, Abigail begs for it.

Today, Hannibal pulls out with a low, quiet groan, and Will eases her down amongst the soft sheets. She goes with a whimper, still trembling with the aftershocks.

Hannibal goes to fetch the washcloths, and Will stays behind, pushing her damp hair away from her face and whispering praise.

“You were so beautiful,” he tells her. “So good. We love you so much, do you know that?”

She blinks up at him, hazy-eyed, lax with pleasure. “I know that,” she whispers. “I love you too. How could any of us do anything else?”

**Author's Note:**

> _Lay me down tonight in my diamonds and pearls,  
>  Tell me songs at night about your favorite girl_
> 
> _[...]_
> 
> _Lay me down tonight in my linen and curls,  
>  Lay me down tonight, I'm your favorite girl._
> 
> _I fucked my way up to the top,  
>  This is my show._
> 
> -I Fucked My Way Up To The Top, by Lana Del Ray


End file.
